


For Him

by Redamber79



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Angst and Tragedy, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, M/M, Red Lyrium Fenris, That hurt, Why Did I Write This?, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 07:18:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16403819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redamber79/pseuds/Redamber79
Summary: Garrett disappears while assisting the Inquisition, and Fenris shows up, searching for his missing lover. He finds him in a way no one could anticipate, and joins the Inquisition himself.





	For Him

**Author's Note:**

> This is not beta'd.

Fenris’ breath was freezing as it left his mouth, a hoarfrost mask crystalizing over his lips and nose. Still, he made no effort to retrieve his scarf from where it had fallen, now trampled underfoot.  All of his focus was on his opponents and his companions, ensuring the tainted Templars scored no hits on him. The last thing he needed on his search for his lover was to be contaminated by the red Templars and their corrupted lyrium.  
He spun quickly at a movement at his back, beheading a Templar who had snuck behind him like a cursed shadow. He thanked the hours he and Garrett had drilled together for his responses against rogues, they'd saved his skin more than once.  He shifted through the fade and appeared at the Inquisitor's back, the enormous Qunari tangled with a brute of an opponent, leaving him open to attack from behind. Fenris quickly blocked the double strike of a Shadow, sensing when Adaar moved away, having cut down the brute with a massive overhand blow.  
The Shadow recovered quickly, and flicked a blade towards Fenris' eyes, but the warrior had seen that trick a thousand times with his lover, and swayed back to dodge the attack by a few finger widths, then swept forward to strike at his opponent's ribs. He felt the impact shudder through his arms, and gave a feral smile. His next blow was nearly dodged, but the Shadow was slowed by the previous wound, and was knocked to the ground with a glancing blow to the helm.  Without the red lyrium, that hit would have disabled or killed someone. The result was inevitable. It would simply take a bit longer with the tainted.  
The Shadow hauled the helm loose, and made a leaping run at Fenris, claw-like hands held high. Fenris spun to the side and whirled, the flat of his blade striking into the corrupted Templar's armour…  
The armour… the crystalline red of lyrium shards no longer blinding Fenris. The straps across the broad chest, the vambraces bent and twisted to fit over the hideous claws, the blades falling to the snow.  Numbly, Fenris watched as a dagger he knew as Jarvia's shank dropped to be lost in the churned snow. Next fell Bard's Honour.  
Fenris knew those weapons as he knew his own name.  As he knew his lover's eyes, touch, voice. That beloved voice now twisted by both the poison of red lyrium, and the gruesome injuries inflicted by Fenris' sword.  
“Fen…” came the mangled call of his name, as only one person called him.  
The red lyrium Shadow staggered back from the blade in its middle, one red eye glaring, one golden beseeching.  
“Please, Fen…” The tortured rasp reached no further than Fenris, whose laboured breathing was abruptly thundering in his own ears as his skin went clammy, his vision narrowing as black encroached at the edges in his panic.  
“No…!” he whispered, a bitter denial, his eyes wide as a paralyzing fear swept through him. He watched as the Shadow fell to the ground, its chest heaving, blood a crimson spill from its side and abdomen.  
_It. Keep thinking of it as ‘it'. Don't look, not yet._ Fenris' thoughts spun in circles, but he raised his sword, and plunged it into the heart of the corrupted form laying before him.  
Fenris fell to his knees, heedless of the snow numbing his feet, his legs, his greatsword falling from nerveless fingers. A true Blade of Mercy, now. He stared down at the red staining the blade, the snow, spattered over his hands.  It burned, reacting to the lyrium in his skin. He knew he should care, but all he could see was the beloved form on the ground before him. He traced his eyes over the familiar hand close to his knee, the dagger just beyond the fingers where it had been dropped.  His glance skipped over the splotches of red, not wanting to see. He'd been the cause of plenty of death. He knew its face.  
To see it on Garrett, on his lover, it struck him to the core. To know it was his own hand that dealt it. That was a wound from which he would never recover. It mattered not at all that there was no saving him. If he'd been here, if he'd refused to let Garrett leave Kirkwall alone, perhaps… maybe…  
Distantly he heard his name being called, and knew it for Varric's voice, but he continued to look over his lover's once beloved features.  He carefully noted that Garrett had let his beard run wild, that he was – no, had been long overdue for a haircut. The curve of his lips was the same; those lips that had kissed Fenris goodbye so passionately a few months past, which had begged him not to follow. His eyes scanned down Garrett's body, flinching away from the horrendous wounds he himself had inflicted, the flashes of red an accusation. His stormy green eyes traced the breadth of the shoulders, the bulk of the man, and yet he'd always been light on his feet, and lethal. The loss of that casual grace was bitter indeed.  
A hand clamped on his shoulder, and Fenris blurred to his feet, his sword once again in his hand. His body lit with ghostly blue flame, the thrumming agony of lyrium a welcome respite from the painful reality on the ground before him. He raised his sword, _He gave it to me…_ an errant thought skittering across the surface of his mind as he prepared to attack.  
Varric wasn't there however, he'd done an incredible backflip out of range, and was staring at him in shock.  
“Andraste's ass, Broody! What is wrong with you?!” the dwarf demanded.  Fenris blinked, shaking his head, and stabbed his sword into the ground next to Garrett's body. Then he turned and vanished into the woods, a flashing blur as he fled the sight of his dead lover.  
  
**  
  
Varric stared after Fenris' disappearing form, knowing there was no way to catch him.  
“What is wrong with that blasted elf?” he muttered, tugging at the cuffs of his gloves.  
_“Fearful, familiar, found. The features faded, fractured like broken glass. The ache to touch still there, but changed, a poisonous song.”_ Varric turned to see Cole standing where Fenris had knelt, the familiar greatsword still quivering in the ground. That had been a gift from Hawke.  No way Fenris would leave it behind. But he had. Varric felt a horrible sense of foreboding wash over him, and he looked about for the heavily tattooed Inquisitor.  
“Hey, Inky. Have you and Cole got this covered? Broody just took off without his sword. That elf is going to get himself killed.”  
“He’s still screaming in my head, his pain is so loud, but he clutches it,” Cole murmured softly, his voice taking on a slight sing-song quality. _“Deny, desperately, damned. Red everywhere, calling. His hand, calling. Can't touch, corrupted, no control. Hurt. Hurt so badly. Cannot save him.  Always._ **_I am yours._ ** _Red everywhere._ **_I'll finish this for you._ ** _”_ **  
** Varric turned back to the pale young man, a denial on his lips. His eyes fell on the body he'd taken to be a Red Templar Shadow, the thatch of black hair broken by crystalline red, the features obscured, one honey-amber eye staring sightlessly at the grey sky. The great rent in the chest armour where Fenris' sword had caved it in. Varric was suddenly scrambling forward, tripping over his own feet, shouting his friend's name.  
“Hawke! No, you can't..!” he struggled to reach his friend, to save him, unaware that the Inquisitor had scooped him up about the waist and was holding him away from the dead monstrosity. All that was left of the Champion of Kirkwall.  Varric watched in horror as Cole reached down with the point of a dagger to nudge the armour aside just so, revealing the ugly wound.  
And the sickeningly familiar red crystals permeating Hawke's body. Varric slumped numbly in Adaar's arms, Bianca dropping unnoticed from his fingers.  
“This is my fault,” the dwarf rasped. “I called him in. Hell, I helped find that blasted thaig. He'd… he'd be alive if it weren't for me.”  
Cole moved silently closer, and gracefully bent to retrieve the crossbow, luckily undamaged in her fall to the snow underfoot.  
_“What my brother doesn't realize, is we need people like you,”_ Cole said softly, but Varric's head snapped up, recognizing his own words.  Adaar set him down gently, but ready to grab him again if he looked to approach the tainted body.  
“Varric, he was already trying to get involved, and without that money, his family wouldn't have survived. Then Kirkwall would have fallen to the Qunari. How is it your fault for helping him?”  
“But I called him in, he wouldn't have been taken, turned into… this!” Varric gestured weakly at his friend, then raised his eyes to scan the forest. “Damnit, Broody…”  
Adaar’s deep voice broke into his thoughts.    
“Varric, you called him in because of Corypheus, because he might have been able to offer insight. And don't start blaming yourself for Corypheus getting loose again, if it hadn't been now, it would be when Hawke or his sister had a child. They needed the blood, no one said it needed to be willing.  Corypheus had waited all this time, his plan was to escape.” The Inquisitor sighed heavily. “He shouldn't have been scouting alone, but he wouldn't listen. He'd had Fenris to watch his back for years, but alone? And think how Fenris must feel.”  
Varric took Bianca back from Cole with a nod, absently checking her for damage.  
“Well, shit.”  
  
**  
  
Fenris made his way back to them that night after they'd made camp. He'd heard Varric calling his name, but stayed away, huddled against the frigid air. Even so, it felt warmer than within. His mossy  green eyes were dulled, his face gaunt and lined with pain. Varric stood as he approached, and offered a flask. Fenris took it and downed several swallows, not even a shudder rippling his frame at the potent drink.  
“Broody…” Varric hesitated, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. “Damn. I'm sorry.”  
“Did you feed him red lyrium?” Fenris asked, his low voice inflectionless, numb.  
Varric stared at him helplessly. When it seemed the elf was actually waiting for a reply, he spoke softly.  
“No, I didn't.”  
“Then you need not apologize. But tell me this, dwarf.  Have we another target?”  
“Broody, I don't think--" Varric let his words trail off, for Fenris had turned away to approach the Inquisitor.  
“What is our next target?” Fenris asked the tall Tal-Vashoth.  
Adaar's eyes flicked to Varric, who shrugged, and gestured to the elf.  
“The Hissing Wastes, a place called Adamant Fortress.” The Inquisitor’s voice was a low rumble. “That’s where Corypheus has assembled his corrupted Wardens. We need to stop them before their demon army can be summoned. The Lyrium Ghost would be of great assistance.”  
“And Corypheus was the one who caused the spread of the red lyrium,” the elf’s voice slightly more animated than previously. “I will join you in Adamant then. Hawke's cause is now mine."

**

 

Adamant fortress was bleak and imposing, and the battle dire. The Inquisitor tried where he could to turn Grey Wardens to their side, but thanks to the demons, the Grey Warden mages were spellbound, with no way to save them.  

Fenris watched in disgust as Warden-Commander Clarel sacrificed one of her own to blood magic to open a monstrous rift. He listened as the Inquisitor gave an impassioned speech to rally the Grey Wardens, and saw the corrupted, disfigured dragon covered the escape of the Venatori Magister, Erimond.

Fenris snarled, his hatred of Tevinter Magisters unabated. He made an exception for the Inquisitor's companion, Dorian, but he watched him, all the same.

Fenris was immediately on the heels of Clarel with Warden Alistair at his side, and he could hear the heavy tread of the two Tal-Vashoth, the lighter step of that self-same mage, and the long familiar stomp of Varric's boots, following him closely.

**

An ear-splitting shriek, and the ground shook, the bridge collapsing. Fenris was falling, and all he could think was that he would see Hawke again at last.

An eldritch green glow appeared below him as he fell into the abyss. When the world righted itself, he was in a dark, washed out place, that was both hauntingly familiar, and horrifyingly alien.

“The Fade, but we were awake? This is what you did, Adaar?” Fenris asked, readying his sword.

“To save us from that fall? To be able to perhaps escape, to defeat Corypheus? Absolutely.” The Inquisitor's deep voice was certain, but with a pang, Fenris saw that he had his hand gently on the forearm of the other Tal-Vashoth, called The Iron Bull. Whether drawing or giving comfort, it was an intimate touch, and he turned away from the sight. He glanced at his own hands, and clenched his fist around the reddish glow his markings had taken on when he'd been splashed with Garrett's corrupted blood. Still, he kept silent. He would fight as long as he could, for Garrett.

The first time the sonorous voice of fear spoke to their party, Fenris’ lips pressed thin. It taunted him with Garrett's death, his pledge. It mocked him, saying that his promise would be corrupted, a clever hint at the poison spreading through his system, no doubt. In the end, he stayed silent. He had nothing to hide from fear. His time on the Maker's soil was limited. He knew that. He simply wished to strike a blow against Corypheus in the process.

When they encountered the glowing white outline of a woman, Fenris was suspicious, but left the debate to others. He spent his time speaking with Warden Alistair, whose beloved had left on a mission to find a cure for the taint. Fenris didn't have the heart to tell him how Garrett died, simply that he fell in battle. Perhaps Alistair and his Hero could have a happy ending yet.

The Inquisitor picked up memory after memory, and the culpability of the Wardens in the Divine's death was made clear. Alistair was livid, as well as disturbed. The man looked nearly shattered. He argued bitterly with the others, saying that if the Calling truly had been reaching all Wardens, an attempt to kill the slumbering dragons of the Old Gods made a certain, desperate sense.

“The point is moot, an escape must still be found,” Fenris snapped, crushing a spider under foot. The dog-sized arachnid attempted to claw at him, and managed a swipe across a bare foot that stung briefly, then burned. He ignored it.

**

Hours passed. It felt like days to Fenris, each call from the demon spreading like poison through him, like the poison that would surely kill him. The others were uncertain or full of bravado, but Varric kept eyeing Fenris. They stopped for a brief rest, and the dwarf approached.

“Broody, I have no reason to think you're alright, how could you be? But there's more. What's going on?”

Fenris thought about demurring, but this was Varric, a friend. Perhaps the only one he had left. He pulled Varric aside, so as not to inform the others.

“I'm dying by inches, Varric. When I felt Garrett's blood on my hands--”

“Don't be dramatic, you're not Blondie!” Varric snapped, the rubbed at his brow. “Sorry. Shit. But you couldn't have saved him. You know that, right?”

“I do, but--”

“Then no more of this blood on your hands business. You did the only thing you could for him.”

“Varric, I'm well aware of that,” Fenris sighed. He couldn't tell Varric. He'd been blaming himself for Garrett's death, thinking that if he hadn't written him that he wouldn't have been captured and corrupted. But truly, the moment rumours had reached Kirkwall of Corypheus, Garrett had been determined to get involved. He simply could not stand by. He'd sent Fenris  with Aveline to keep Bethany safe, but as soon as they'd gotten her as far as they meant to, Fenris had turned back. If only it had been a day later, so he hadn't been the one to face Garrett. But what would that have solved? He'd saved the Inquisitor that day, from Garrett in fact.

Fenris shook his head, focusing again on his friend.

“Please, pay me no mind, Varric. My thoughts are melancholy more often than not these days. This place is not helping.”

“Well then, let's get out of here. How's that sound?” Varric grinned, but Fenris could see the fear pinching his brow.

The party gathered together and discussed the route they ought to take, and they made their way forward. A pride demon appeared before them, and Fenris hurled himself at it, avoiding using his tattoos. He feared igniting them would spread the poison further. He wasn't ready to give in yet. His companions had to escape.

**

The cemetery and tombstones were gruesome, and debris blanched at seeing his own name there. An advantage to being recently illiterate however, reading still took focus. He saw others reacting to their own inscriptions, and decided the demons had nothing to say to him that he needed to know.

The aspect of Divine Justinia, or rather, a spirit of the Fade, led them further on. It took on the Nightmare, a gargantuan spider-like demon, chasing it off that they might face Fear without it there to compound their dread.

Fenris drew on his markings now. This was no time for caution, and he flew across the strange battlefield, but now when his markings lit, rather than simply painful, there was a disquieting twisting to his stomach as well, and everything he looked at was soon tinged with red. He kept his focus on Fear, and eventually the demon fell. He watched, panting, leaning on his sword, as the Inquisitor shoved his lover, the Vint mage, and Varric through the portal. Fenris staggered upright, and he felt Alistair wrap an arm about his waist to support him.

Adaar took his other side, and they stumbled forward.

Too late!

The Nightmare returned, its mountainous form blocking the way.

Alistair attempted to pass Fenris to the Inquisitor, the Warden straightening his shoulders.

“Well, not quite how I'd imagined my exit, but the Wardens must atone. It's been something else! You'd have liked my old friend Sten, Fenris. You share the same smile. Inquisitor, get word to her, please?”

“You'll do that yourself. This is my task,” Fenris told them, forcing himself upright.

“You're wounded, man!” the Warden exclaimed, a scowl on his face.

“I'm dying, actually. Have been since Garrett's blood hit my tattoos. The lyrium in my tattoos is already corrupted by the red lyrium that consumed Garrett. I _cannot_ be saved. But perhaps your love will find a cure for you, Alistair. Adaar, get him out of here, the Wardens will need him!”

Alistair, the brave idiot, hesitated, until Adaar grabbed him by the shoulder, and dragged him aside.

Taking a deep breath, Fenris took up his sword, his gift from Garrett, one last time. He let his tattoos flare to life, a beacon in the darkness of the Fade. The Nightmare tracked him, and Fenris charged forward, a battlecry upon his lips.

**_“FOR GARRETT!”_ **

**Author's Note:**

> So we always see art of red lyrium Fenris, but what about a red lyrium Garrett? Once I had that thought, it wouldn't let go. This is the result


End file.
